


Tell Us So

by Overdressedtokill (SkyeStan)



Series: Killers for Hire (SkyeWard AU) [5]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Killers for Hire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-12 16:40:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2117109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyeStan/pseuds/Overdressedtokill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skye would rather Ward didn’t pretend to care about her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Us So

“You’re out of your fucking mind.”

Skye resists the urge to pull the comm out of her ear.  She’d stayed out of Ward’s feed on purpose, and he had to have known that.  She’d never not bothered him before.  Which is weird to think about, that she’s been flitting around him for so long.

She idly presses her hand to her ear.  It doesn’t make the sound any better, but the gesture reassures her.  “You hacked my comm.”

“Fitz hacked your comm,” Grant says.  “He owes me a few favors.”

Skye doesn’t bite back.  There has to be a witticism in there, somewhere, but she can’t seem to think of one.

“Skye?” he repeats.  “What are you doing out there?”

She lowers her hand.  She idly touches her hip, where she keeps her knives, and plays it like she’s smoothing out her dress.  “I’m going to make enough money to pay for that doctor’s visit,” she replies.  “And then we’ll be even.”

“Excuse me?” Ward asks.  “Even how?”

“You saved my life,” Skye says, scanning the crowd.  “I’m going to pay you back before you try to collect.”  Is Ward in the bar?  Is he going to fuck her over?  Probably not.  There are such big windows, here.  He’s got to be up in high-rise somewhere, waiting.  And watching her.  She finds her way onto the dance floor, where there are plenty of bodies.  Somewhere to hide from his scope.

“I didn’t-” He pauses.  He must’ve lost sight of her.  She counts that as a small victory.  “I didn’t save your life so that you could owe me a favor.”

“I have literally zero reasons to believe that,” Skye says.

“You really think I’m that kind of guy?” he says.

She spots her target, standing over by the bathroom.  “I know you are,” she says.

“So this is a big ‘fuck you,’ then?” Ward demands.  “You’re trying to prove you don’t need me?”

“I have nothing to prove,” Skye says.  She reaches for knife #1.  If she can wind her way out of the crowd, she’ll get a good, clean shot.

“And that’s why you’re going into one of the biggest Yakuza bars around with nothing but your knives,” he says.  “Because you’ve got nothing to prove.”

“Do me a favor if this goes south, baby,” Skye says.  “Fuck off.”

She can practically see him snarling.  “No problem, kiddo.”

  
  


She can do this.  She can do this.  One knife, and she’ll slip back into the crowd, unnoticed.  One knife, and she’ll be $100,000 richer.  She’ll be able to pay Ward off, and he can stop pretending he cares about her well-being.

Foolproof.

“Don’t do this.”  He must see her again.  He must think she’ll listen to him.  But she never has, and now would be a shitty time to start.

She’s no longer hidden by flashing lights and club patrons who are too drunk to notice the sneer on her face.  “I told you to fuck off.”

“This guy has at least three people watching him right now,” Ward says.  “You’re going to get gunned down as soon as you take the shot.”

“Bullshit,” Skye says.

“Skye,” he warns.  “Don’t.”

He’s trying to distract her.  He’s trying to ruin her.  “Shut up,” she hisses.

“Skye,” Don’t listen don’t listen don’t- “Skye, your six!”

  
  


She spins to face her attacker, and realizes with a growing dread that she’s going to be too slow.   There’s a gun at her eye level and she doesn’t even have her knife out yet.  She can do this.  She can do this.  It’s foolproof.  She reaches, she grabs, the enemy has his finger on the trigger and-

He falls down dead.  One bullet right between the eyes.  One hole in the window.  One stupid, stupid-

“You fucking son of a bitch!” Skye yells, and she doesn’t even care that it’s not a whisper, because everyone’s running and screaming, now.

“I just saved you!” he yells back.  “Again!”

“Yeah, thanks for that,” Skye says.  She’s going to lose her mark.  She’s looking for him now, searching-There!  Trying to break away from the crowd.  “What do you want from me, Grant?” she asks.

“I want you to be alive,” he replies.  “I want you to stop being an idiot for five fucking seconds and just-”

She pulls out her earpiece.  It’s supposed to be for transmissions from Coulson, anyway.  Not for idle chatter.

And then she runs for the back door.  She’s got money to make.

  
  


The roaring of engines and the smell of exhaust greets her in the back alley.  She feels a scream bubbling in her throat, but she’s not sure if it’s rage or frustration or some unholy combination of the two.  She’s not going to waste her knives on a moving car full of men with loaded guns.  That’s just stupid.

But she’s pissed.  She’s so, so pissed.  And as the cars peel out of the alleyway, she lets herself yell curses and stomp her feet, if only to get it all out before Ward shows up.

And he will show up.  After all, that’s two debts, now.  He must be dying to collect.

She could run.  She could wait.  She looks up at the skyscrapers and the neon lights and she hates it.  The city, the lights.  Every city.  All the lights.

“Fuck!” she announces, to no one in particular.  She swears up at the sky until the words become garbled nonsense.  And then she feels angrier, still, that she doesn’t have a better way to vent.

  
  


Which is when she picks up Ward’s footsteps.  And if she can hear his footsteps, it’s only because he wants her to.  It’s a sign that he’s coming in peace.

How pathetic they’ve become.

“You’re mad at me.”  It’s not a question.

“Of course I’m mad,” she says.  “You just cost me a hundred grand.”

“That’s not why you’re mad,” he says.

Her head snaps forward.  “Are you a therapist now?” she asks.  “Do you want to talk about my feelings and shit?  Maybe hold my hand a little?”

He reels.  He reels and it feels good.  To put him back exactly where she found him.

“You can drop the act,” he says.  “Whatever the hell you think I did, just tell me.”

“You’ve been killing for me,” she says.  She crosses her arms.  Squares her stance.  Anything that gives off the signal not to approach.  Not to touch.  “You’re going to keep doing it until there’s no way I can pay you back.  And then you’ll collect.”

He smirks at her, then, and it’s cold.  “That’s right,” he says, in a low rumble.  “You caught me.  I’ve been saving your little ass just so I can kidnap you, one of these days.”  He steps forward.  “You got me, Skye.”

“Don’t get smarmy with me,” she says.  And if he’s going to get closer, she will too.  Does he think he’s intimidating?  Does he think he’s so much stronger than she is?  So much better?  “You’re not a good man.  You don’t do good things without a reason.”

“I have never claimed to be a good man,” he says.  “But if you think I’m going to let you die-”

“Don’t,” she says.  “Save it for someone who’s going to believe it.”

They’re too close.  In every sense of the word, though she’s most acutely aware of close in the physical sense.  Ward is close enough that she could curl her hands into his shirt, if she wanted.

“And what do you believe, Skye?” he asks.  Not in a roar, but a whisper.  “What do you think I am?”

“Can you not stand so close to me?” she asks.  He reaches for her, and she could push his hands away.  He’s waiting for her to push his hands away.  But she doesn’t.

He’s touching her face.  Cupping her cheeks. “I’ll be whatever you want me to be,” he says.  He brushes her hair out of her face.  “Just so long as you try not to get yourself killed.”

“Then don’t be this,” she says.  “Stop ruining my kills.  Stop-”

He’s a breath away.  “Stop what?”

Her head is swimming.  She is swimming.  She is drowning.  She is lost.

“Stop pretending to be in love with me.”

He stops, alright.  He stops cold, still too close to her face.  “What?”

“We don’t do love,” she says.  “And you know it.  You knew it when we started, at least.”

He drops his hands.  She steps back.  And she almost, almost savors the darkness in his expression.

“You think I’m in love with you?” he asks.

“I think you’re getting soft,” she says.

  
  


She thinks she might’ve pushed him too far.  Because for a moment, he’s blank.  Utterly unreadable.  Until he isn’t.  Until he’s exactly what she wants him to be. The darkness.  All-consuming, in his eyes and his brow and the twist of his mouth into some cruel kind of smile.  “You’re fucking nuts,” he says.  “Maybe you’re projecting.”

This is what she needs. The relief that floods through her is enough to drown out anything else.

This is the Ward she likes.

This is the Ward she wants to fuck.

“Aw,” she says.   “You almost had real emotion, for a second there.”  This is good.  This is what they should be.

He approaches her again, like the predator she needs him to be.  “What can I say?” he asks.  He pulls her hair, exposes her neck.  “You bring out the worst in me.”

It’s enough to distract her from the lost kill, from the debts, from the doubt she can still see swimming in his eyes.

Her hands find his neck.  His pulse.  His warmth.  This is who they are.  Who they will always be.

She can’t accept anything else.  She can’t think about the future.  She can’t change her ways.

And this is all she has.

“Are you going to fuck me?” she asks.  “Or is this just a night for compliments?”

He kisses her hard enough to bruise.  And she’s glad.


End file.
